


of doubt, desire, and lukewarm showers

by lieanni (alphabetsleuth)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Crying, Dry Orgasm, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Safewords, Subdrop, Whining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetsleuth/pseuds/lieanni
Summary: Usually, Wooyoung doesn’t even need San to be there to feel good about himself - his brain has never clouded enough to confuse San’s roughness for lack of affection, but there’s a first for everything and now the two things are suddenly non-zero sum.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 4
Kudos: 156





	of doubt, desire, and lukewarm showers

**Author's Note:**

> Friends old and new,
> 
> If you recognize this work, that's because I published it in August under my then account lieanni. I took a break from writing and, due to personal reasons, made the decision to delete all of my works. After talking with some mutuals, I've made the decision to repost a select few of them. I realized that a lot of the joy from writing for me was being able to share it with other people, and I didn't mean to take the (at risk of sounding presumptive) experiences that formed around my works away. So - though I'll be taking an indefinite break from writing for ateez - whether you're new to this work or have already read it, I hope you enjoy it!

With the comeback comes more practices, more media appearances, more attention, and more stress.

Wooyoung doesn’t mind the trade-off of the latter for all of the former - the balance hangs ostensibly in his favor, and though it’s never pleasant to get scolded for missing a note or for misstepping the choreography, the outpour of support across all the channels he frequents is enough to numb the discomfort.

And when it comes down to it, the stress is not Wooyoung’s alone to bear. He has seven group members to share it with, and when it gets too much for any one of them, they can and have always turned to each other for comfort.

Wooyoung knows that he can go to any member for repose, but it’s an unspoken truth that San is his go-to. The sentiment is reciprocated in full, usually expressed in lingering stares and full-force clinginess, regardless of cameras, time, or location. 

This comeback is bigger than any they’ve had to date, and it takes a particular toll on all eight of them, and coping methods have shifted in turn. San’s favorite way to relieve stress has always been Wooyoung, but the statement has taken on a new meaning; the softness of the previous era, promises held in soft touches and tender motions, blitzes into a raw intensity that leaves Wooyoung’s entire body aching the morning after. 

That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy the change. It’s easing for him to let go, too, and he loves, he craves the dark intensity in San’s gaze. It’s as if the stress has unlocked a whole new part of him - previously, San had been almost painfully cautious with Wooyoung, taking great care at each turn to ensure his comfort. Wooyoung wasn’t displeased by how vanilla everything was because it was a mere manifestation of how much San adored him; still, he craved more, and it took an hour-long talk and many more trials for San to finally lean into his dominance. Even then, hesitation would occasionally surface; now, San seems to have shed all such qualms.

Thankfully, he’s not the member chosen to show off his physique this comeback, or else the general public would get an eyeful of the nips and bruises tracking along his hips and torso. On one occasion, Wooyoung has to scold San for trailing a mark too deep and too high up on his chest. The older sulks and mumbles a rather unconvincing word of apology. That night, in likely retribution, he triple marks the parts of Wooyoung’s body left coverable by the stylists. After ensuring that Wooyoung is desperate and whimpering below him, San pulls back with a contented smirk, tongue swiping over his lower lip as he admires the wreck he’s made.

They have a particularly packed schedule today, and Wooyoung knows he’s in for it from the stare that San gives him after they stroll off their third set of the day. He sees San walk over and whisper something to Yeosang - requesting a room switch, probably - and Wooyoung purses his lips, anticipation already building.

When the time comes, San goes hard - he rams into Wooyoung’s prostate with such intensity that Wooyoung sees static, vision sparking black as his eyes roll back in pleasure. The sheer force with which San fucks into him has broken cries pouring from his lips, and Wooyoung gets so loud that San stuffs three fingers into his mouth in a bid to shut him up. It serves only to rile Wooyoung up more; he moans unabashedly around San’s digits even as he works his tongue around them. His whimpers double when San jams his fingers farther in, causing spit to bubble out of the corners of Wooyoung’s mouth and trail freely down his chin. Wooyoung’s mind grows ever hazier when San starts moving his fingers in time with his thrusts, and when he cums just moments later, it’s as much of a surprise to him as it is to San.

Despite the fresh spurts that paint his abdomen, the growl that San lets out piques Wooyoung’s interest. San withdraws his fingers from Wooyoung’s mouth and uses the freed hand to harshly grip the younger’s jaw. Wooyoung’s eyes are half-lidded, and he’s still dazed from his high, but the way San tightens his hold, the pressure crushing, has him back on full alert. He whines when San pulls out, body tingling from the sensation, but the sound is pierced by the jarred cry he lets out when San pushes all the way in on one go, nailing the bundle of nerves that has Wooyoung sobbing with overstimulation. A few more thrusts is all it takes for Wooyoung to get hard again, length slapping against his stomach, the noise made wet by contact with his own cum. This time, his release pushes San to the edge, too, and Wooyoung’s already stuttering hole clenches in fervor around San’s cock as he pumps Wooyoung full of his cum. 

“Fuck,” San groans, pulling out of Wooyoung. A squelch accompanies the action, and Wooyoung’s hole twitches as some of San’s release slips out. Wooyoung feels oddly empty, though his lower half remains partially satiated by the stickiness trickling slowly out of his ass; he whimpers, clenching to fill the void left behind. At the sight, San lets out a breathy laugh. He uses two fingers to gather the cum around Wooyoung’s hole, then promptly shoves it back in, the resulting noise wet and embarrassingly loud.

“So desperate for my cum, hm?”

Wooyoung’s lips part for a drawn-out moan, mind numb and body ablaze at the continued stimulation. He looks up at San, eyes hooded, and bites his lip, a soft whimper pulling from the corners. San gazes at him for a few seconds before leaning down and caging Wooyoung against the mattress; he sucks hard at the stretch along Wooyoung’s shoulder before moving down to take a nipple into his mouth, teething at it with an intensity that has Wooyoung squirming. San marks a path from the younger’s sternum to his waist, and Wooyoung watches lazily as San pulls back to pump his cock. It’s a few seconds before he pushes into Wooyoung, and Wooyoung’s fingers claw into the sheets as San fucks him with even more force than before. Pleas pour unabashedly from Wooyoung’s mouth, augmented by the filthy slapping sound that fills up the room.

Wooyoung’s so overstimulated at this point that he cums dry; San notices and, with a smirk, wraps his hand around Wooyoung’s half-hard length. He squeezes, and Wooyoung’s entire body convulses, hole contracting in a way that again has San cumming inside of him, his release hot and fulfilling in the base of Wooyoung’s stomach.

This time around, Wooyoung’s too gone to fixate on the sensation of San’s cum as the older slips out. The warmth in his ass is an odd contrast to the cold, strange stickiness on his stomach from where his own cum has layered over his previous release. Wooyoung feels a bit gross, but he can’t yet muster the energy to do anything about it. His eyelids tremble as he tries desperately to keep awake, knowing that he should probably get up and shower or something. He feels the bed shift, and there’s a slight sensation of a tissue working across his abdomen, sopping up the fluids that had landed there. San wipes around his ass, too, but Wooyoung can’t shake the faint feeling of discomfort that lingers.

San shifts up to lay next to Wooyoung, sliding an arm under him and wrapping it around his shoulder. 

“You okay, baby?”

Wooyoung yawns and gives San a half-hearted nod, eyelids drooping closed. He nuzzles up into San’s side and means to say something about taking a shower, but it trails off into an incoherent mumble as exhaustion gets to him first.

Wooyoung blinks back to attention as nausea roils at the pit of his stomach; it’s hot tonight, and the sensation of sweat mixing with the layers already caked on his body heightens Wooyoung’s self-disgust. He gathers that it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since he dozed off, but San is fast asleep next to him. Wooyoung contemplates waking him up so that the two of them can shower together, but there’s a tug at Wooyoung’s heart from how tired San looks, even as he’s resting. Ultimately, he decides not to disturb San; he slips out of the older’s hold and pads over to the bathroom.

He thought he felt gross enough before, but when he flicks the lights on and takes in his own reflection, his nausea doubles. Usually, Wooyoung loves the markings that San scatters across his body - he revels in the claim they imply, delights in the tangible knowledge of San’s possessiveness. Now, though, when he looks in the mirror, all he sees is a second-rate whore.

The old blue-browns on his torso are haphazardly accented by new red-purples, and darkening crescents track up his sides, dipping deep on his hip bones. His lips are puffy, cracked at one corner and shaded a deep red, and his hair is alarmingly tousled, the roughness with which San had yanked his locks leaving the roots wild.

As he is, bitterly alone in front of the stretch of glass, it looks like Wooyoung’s just been used for pleasure and tossed aside. He knows that it’s not what happened, but it’s a reasonable conclusion to describe the boy standing in front of him, and Wooyoung feels like he doesn’t even recognize himself. He doesn’t want to recognize himself.

A dull drumming sounds in Wooyoung’s brain, and as it grows in volume, the nausea in his stomach slowly flips over to panic. His breaths become increasingly labored; Wooyoung manages to keep it together long enough to scramble to the shower. He turns the tap on, hoping that the water will calm his nerves. It’s warm within a few seconds but, compounded by the existing humidity in the air and the strange feeling gnawing at him, the warmth makes him feel sick.

He twists the tap to the far right. For a few seconds, the chill is soothing, but then, all at once, it’s even worse than the heat. Wooyoung stands, shivering and alone, the fridgidness raising goosebumps on his skin and pounding insufficiency into his brain. He can feel the tears beginning to sting in the corners of his eyes, and he looks up and blinks rapidly in an effort to hold them back.

Trying to temper the rising sense of dread, Wooyoung swipes some body wash off the counter and rubs furiously at his limbs. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, but long after his skin has turned pink and torn raw, the repulsion remains. Only when Wooyoung turns to look in the mirror, past the glass of the shower, does he understand why: the dried filth may vanish, but no matter how hard he goes at it, he won’t be able to rub off the bruises on his torso or the ache in his limbs or the crushing, suffocating weight on his chest.

The bruises and the ache are familiar, but Wooyoung can’t fathom the sharpness that carves into his sternum, can’t pinpoint what makes this time so different from all the rest, what makes him feel so dirty and hollow and inadequate and—

His lips are pursed, but a wretched sob breaks them apart, and Wooyoung barely manages to brace a hand against the wall before he’s convulsing, heaving nothing into the drain below. The snot bubbles up in his nose and his breath catches in high whistles, and Wooyoung feels so, so disgusting. Dreading the idea that another member might hear him, he pushes a fist into his mouth, gnawing at his knuckles, but it’s no use. His tears wrack up non-stop, because San’s not here to save him from himself.

The other’s presence is always enough to remind Wooyoung that he loves the pain, that he craves and wants anything and everything that San will give him. Usually, Wooyoung doesn’t even need San to be there to feel good about himself - his brain has never clouded enough to confuse San’s roughness for lack of affection, but there’s a first for everything and now the two things are suddenly non-zero sum.

He’s alert enough now to feel the anger seeping in, his stupid, selfish brain urging to divy up blame because Wooyoung’s too fragile to handle it all by himself. Wooyoung knows that he’s being ridiculous, and that’s what makes it all the worse. Had Wooyoung just asked San to shower together, there’s no way the older would have denied him. He’s already enough of a needy brat; San has appeased him through even his most unreasonable tantrums, has sacrificed sleep and sweat and tears trying to make Wooyoung happy. Guilt gnaws away at Wooyoung - the hollowness he feels is entirely his own fault, and he’s already burdened San with so much. The least he can do is suck it up this one time.

Wooyoung bumps into a half-awake Yeosang on his way out of the bathroom. Wooyoung faces away as quickly as possible, raising a hand as some passable form of acknowledgement before scurrying down the hallway. He’s almost to the door of his room when Yeosang speaks.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.” The answer is unnatural without the why at the end; Yeosang fills the gap for him.

“You look a bit shaken, is all.”

Wooyoung barks out a laugh, the sound foreign to even himself. “I’m just tired. Goodnight, Yeosang.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before retreating into his room.

\---

The next few days pan out better than Wooyoung had expected. He’s convincing enough the morning after his breakdown, and Yeosang never mentions anything; judging from the normalcy of the group dynamic, Yeosang has probably forgotten about what happened that night.

Promotions are in full-force, but their schedule miraculously lightens for a few days; between the room for relaxation and the warmth of San’s embrace, Wooyoung almost forgets, too.

Then, at the end of the week, San stumbles the choreography. It’s unusual for him, so there’s no need for the trainer to go in as hard as he does. In fact, there’s no reason for him to lash out so sharply at anyone, and between the exhaustion and the stress and the unfairness of it all, Wooyoung sees San snap.

Wooyoung is the first inside the dorm. He beelines to his room and sits himself on his bed; his heartbeat is already picking up. An odd feeling washes over him, and Wooyoung pins it as anticipation - given the current situation, it should be anticipation, but something in the back of his mind tells him that he’s wrong.

A few minutes later, San enters the room. The tension in his frame still coils from the incident during practice, and his eyes are dark as he closes the gap between himself and the bed. San pulls Wooyoung forward by his shirt collar, bunching the material, and crashes their lips together. His tongue is in Wooyoung’s mouth a second later, and Wooyoung tries his best to reciprocate, but San works at him so hungrily that it’s hard to keep up.

Wooyoung’s not sure if he thinks it’s hot because he actually does or if he just thinks he should be thinking it. The fact that his cock reacts to San’s ministrations is a good argument for the former, but a shadow of doubt lingers in Wooyoung’s mind.

The wet heat of San’s mouth is a welcome distraction. Without breaking contact, San slips his hands up Wooyoung’s shirt and tweaks at his nipples, and Wooyoung moans into the kiss, instinctively leaning into San’s touch. San helps Wooyoung lift his shirt up, then captures his lips with more fervor than before, the force pushing the younger down so that his back is flat against the bed.

Wooyoung’s pants and briefs are next to go, and San follows suit; the heat of flesh on flesh is delicious, and Wooyoung’s mind is pleasantly hazy when San starts trailing open-mouthed kisses down to his abdomen. 

His eyes are half-lidded as he watches San work down his body. When San nips at the skin near his hip, Wooyoung jolts. His eyes startle open, focusing in on his torso, and Wooyoung winces at the faint black and blue remnants under San’s lips. Wooyoung’s sensitive, so it’s not unusual for him to squirm under San’s touch; still, San pauses to look up at him.

“Are you alright?”

The strange twang in Wooyoung’s stomach calms at the tender look in San’s eyes, softness lingering behind the burn of desire. At the lack of immediate affirmation, San starts to pull away; Wooyoung catches his wrist and pulls him back down. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

San’s brows furrow. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Wooyoung is tired and worn, but the genuine concern in San’s tone warms him up, like the pleasant tingle of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. San is always there for him, and he wants to be there for San, too. Offering himself up is a small ask - if he could, he’d give San the whole world.

So, despite his queasiness, Wooyoung pushes through with renewed resolve. He wraps a hand around the back of San’s neck and draws the older down, then purposefully grinds up against him.

As if a switch has been flipped, San’s previous intensity immediately returns. As San trails his way down Wooyoung’s abdomen, Wooyoung keeps his gaze focused on San’s face, blurring the peripherals of his own body. The sensations are pleasant, and Wooyoung doesn’t want to ruin what he just willingly asked for.

San knows no better than to follow the usual patterns, and usually, Wooyoung likes it rough, loves the way that pleasure and pain and rawness twist together until he can’t tell any of them apart. But when San pushes into Wooyoung after only preparing him for a few moments, the girth burns. When Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut, attempting to adjust to the stretch, his reflection from that night is scorched into the back of his eyelids.

Wooyoung fights desperately against the panic that claws up his throat. It’s fine, he chants in his head, the mantra doing nothing at all to calm his nerves. He takes a deep breath and attempts to concentrate on the sensation of San inside and on top of him. It’s warm and comforting, a soothing salve to the jarring feelings of cold and loneliness stirred up by the memory plaguing him. He loops his arms around San’s back, honing in on the heat that emanates from the touch.

Despite his best efforts, Wooyoung is fighting a losing battle. The doubt has been stirring in him for a week now, and it takes the slightest opportunity to strike, to drag his head below water as he flails desperately to avoid sinking. San’s here, now, just as eager for Wooyoung as ever, and for some reason, Wooyoung still feels like he’s drowning.

In a final attempt to ground himself, Wooyoung looks up at San, desperate for reassurance. It’s absurd, even to him, that he might find anything akin to doubt in San’s eyes, but in Wooyoung’s current state, the fear is ever present.

And perhaps it's a trick of the eye or the twisted hallucinations of Wooyoung’s overworked brain, but Wooyoung finds something even worse in San’s gaze.

It’s nothing. San’s eyes are trained on his face, but he’s looking straight through him, as if he doesn’t see Wooyoung at all.

Rage and sadness and self-loathing bounce haywire through Wooyoung’s mind, and it gets to be so much that Wooyoung shuts off from himself.

His body feels numb, and even the sensation of San’s cock sliding in and out of him becomes muted. It’s not necessarily unpleasant, but the pleasure has devolved into a strange weight; whimpers rock from the back of his throat at the force of San’s thrusts, but they feel and sound oddly detached.

Wooyoung’s not sure what he wants. He doesn’t think that he wants San to stop - San would, immediately, if Wooyoung asked him to. But Wooyoung wants to satisfy him, wants to feel desired, and this is one of the best ways he knows how to.

On the other hand, as time stretches onwards, the nausea in Wooyoung’s stomach builds. Even as he tries to enjoy himself, Wooyoung’s distracted by the worrying pounding of his heart, beating furiously against his sternum. The drumming in his ears is back, and the fear and anxiety in his mind climb one over the other until both of them peak and turn his brain against him.

San doesn’t even see that you’re hurting. That’s how little he cares. No, actually, maybe he has noticed, and he just doesn’t give a fuck. Look where you’ve gotten yourself - you really are just a useless toy for him, huh? Just a broken whore, to use and throw away at his disposal. He’s just going to keep going and going and going and going until —

“Wooyoung. Youngie?”

Wooyoung startles at the warmth that blooms against his cheek, heat radiating from San’s palm. 

“Youngie, are you okay?”

San’s still buried inside of him, but he’s stopped moving, and his gaze is trained unwaveringly on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung silently wars against himself - a part of him sighs in relief at the break, but it’s overwhelmed by the knowledge that San is holding back. For him. As always, San is suffering the consequences, compromising even when it’s Wooyoung’s own damn fault that he’s hurting. The comforting heat devolves into a dull burning; Wooyoung wants nothing more than to please San, and the fact that he can’t even do that right now pisses him off, shoving his own inadequacy bitterly down his throat.

“Why’d you stop? I didn’t say the safeword.”

San startles as much at the words as he does the aggressive edge in Wooyoung’s voice.

“You looked a bit out of it, so I was just worried.”

He reaches down to push Wooyoung’s fringe out his eyes, but Wooyoung jerks away; he averts his gaze from the hurt that tracks into San’s expression.

“But I didn’t say the safeword.” 

San doesn’t have to say the so? For Wooyoung to know that he’s being absurd. But the cacophony in his head is so loud that Wooyoung loses his handle on the last thread of logic he has. Now, his emotions surge through the bulwark, and his lower lip trembles precariously as he swallows.

The room falls quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, Wooyoung sees San’s brows furrow.

“Wooyoung, baby, what’s wrong?” 

Wooyoung thinks that his own qualms are so ridiculous that he doesn’t even want to voice them. So, just as he’s been doing all night, he pushes them to the side and focuses on whatever will allow him to avoid dealing with his problems.

Without a word, he hooks his legs around San and pushes down onto the other’s cock.

San inhales sharply. “Wooyoung, wait, I—”

Wooyoung rolls his hips with more insistency, and San lets out a strangled noise. He halts the motions with a firm grip at Wooyoung’s sides, and a crease appears between Wooyoung’s eyebrows.

“Do—do you not want me anymore?”

“What?” San’s eyes widen, large in disbelief. “No, of course I do. It just doesn’t seem like everything’s okay.” The corners of San’s mouth turn downwards, and it makes Wooyoung all the more frustrated, exacerbating his perceived inability to make San happy. 

Wooyoung leans up to capture San’s lips, but San stops him with a hand to his chest.

“If you really want to, we can keep going, but I want to make sure that everything is okay. Can you promise me that you’re okay?”

Wooyoung nods, but San remains unconvinced.

“Words, please, baby.”

Wooyoung takes a deep breath. “I’m—”

San’s looking for just two words, but still, Wooyoung’s unable to deliver, and the defeat is crushing.

Almost instantly, tears well up in Wooyoung’s eyes. They’re not even fully formed before they’re streaming down his face, fat droplets molded in such rapid succession that they force each other down the panes of Wooyoung’s cheekbones.

San pulls out as soon as he sees the tears form; the resulting emptiness just has Wooyoung sobbing even harder. Behind the glaze of teardrops, Wooyoung sees San waver between concern and panic. It hurts to see San look so helpless, but Wooyoung’s barely coherent enough to help himself right now.

“Why’d you pull out?” Wooyoung demands. It’s meant to sound accusatory, but with Wooyoung’s sniveling, it just comes off as miserable.

Then, quieter: “Why don’t you want me anymore?”

San’s shocked into silence, too stunned to even ask where the question came from. He blinks at Wooyoung, as if waiting to be told that the inquiry is ingenuine; a second passes, and his expression crumples.

“Youngie, of course I want you.”

San pauses, mouth partially open. Wooyoung knows that San’s just gathering his thoughts to avoid hurting Wooyoung any further, but the silence gives Wooyoung’s insecurities the space to crash anew. 

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

Because that’s not all there is to a relationship. San doesn’t have to tell Wooyoung for him to know that; Wooyoung knows, but for some reason, he still can’t get over himself, and the truth of the matter only spurs his frustrations. “You don’t want me anymore.”

“No.” Beyond the distress, San’s tone is firm and final. “Of course I do, Youngie. I just stopped because you’re not okay.”

Wooyoung purses his lips, because both of them know that San is completely right. He opens his mouth to retort, but the absurdity of the entire situation finally gets to him, and the tears pour anew; given the congestion from the snot in his nose, Wooyoung opens his mouth to breathe; his breaths are big but useless, broken by the force of his own sobs.

San reaches out to him, and Wooyoung flinches. He doesn’t even know why - he wants nothing more than for San to hold him, and the lack of contact makes Wooyoung wail even harder.

Wooyoung curls up into a ball and brings his hands up to wipe at his eyes; it’s fruitless, because the tears just keep coming. After a few moments, he sees a flash of white. He refocuses his gaze enough to identify the tissues that now lie next to him - with a choked noise of thanks, he grabs them and wipes haphazardly at his face. Once his vision has cleared enough, he props himself up on one arm and turns to look at San.

The sheer devastation etched into the other’s features leaves Wooyoung breathless, and the two of them stare at each other for a few seconds that stretch on like hours.

“Do you want me to leave?” San asks, voice painfully soft.

Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Okay. Can I—can I touch you?”

Wooyoung nods, attempting a smile. He lies back down and reaches out for San, and San cautiously lowers himself down next to Wooyoung. Wooyoung rolls to press against San’s side, burrowing his face into the other’s shoulder. After a few seconds, San wraps a careful arm around Wooyoung, tightening his hold only when Wooyoung inches closer to him.

San turns and brings his other arm around Wooyoung’s waist, cradling Wooyoung in a gentle embrace. He rubs circles into Wooyoung’s back as Wooyoung comes down from his hysteria, rocking him softly until his sniffling levels out.

After what seems like an eternity, Wooyoung musters the strength to speak.

“‘M sorry,” he hiccups.

San pulls Wooyoung closer, tucking Wooyoung’s head into his chest. He burrows his nose into Wooyoung’s hair and inhales deeply, as if trying to ground himself.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. It’s my fault, I was being selfish. I should’ve paid more attention from the start. I know you looked tired, and I should’ve asked for more affirmation, and—”

San voice trails off. Pressed this close against him, Wooyoung can feel the older trembling. He frowns and tries to look up at San, but San’s hold is tight.

“No, s’okay, should’ve told you.”

San’s chin rubs against Wooyoung’s hair as the older shakes his head.

“Sannie, please don’t be sad, it’s not your fault.”

San lets out a defeated sniffle, and Wooyoung shifts upwards and nuzzles into the crook of San’s neck, hoping to offer some comfort. He doesn’t really know what to say, so for a while, he doesn’t say anything. But a certain phrase pushes to the front of his mind, and Wooyoung’s overcome urge to make it known.

“I love you,” he whispers. The words roll beautifully off his tongue, and they’re so true. “I love you, Sannie.”

And now San’s really crying, chest heaving rapidly as the sobs crawl up his throat. Wooyoung wraps his arms tightly around San’s torso. The warmth made him feel better, so maybe it’ll help San feel better, too.

“Fuck, I love you, too, I just—” San chokes over his words, and Wooyoung draws him in even tighter.

“It’s okay, Sannie. Really. It’s okay.”

A pause.

“I should’ve known,” San whispers. “I’m so sorry, Youngie. I should’ve stopped immediately—”

Wooyoung heaves a deep sigh. “There’s no way you would have known, because I didn’t tell you. All you had to go off of was me saying that I wanted you, so you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But—”

Wooyoung jabs San in the stomach, and the other squirms and loses his complaint. Wooyoung’s expression is smug when he looks up at San, though his indulgence falters a bit at the wetness on the older’s face.

Wooyoung feels around behind for a free tissue, then brings it up to San’s face and dabs the tear tracks away. He beams at the small smile that has appeared on San’s lips and leans forward to give him a fond peck.

“I’m sorry,” San begins. He pauses to let out a breathy laugh at the eye roll that Wooyoung gives him. “I shouldn’t be taking my stress out on you. Not like this.” He scrunches his nose. “Not ever.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s good for me, too.” Wooyoung stops to phrase his next thought. “Honestly, you’re super hot when you’re stressed.”

It comes out cruder than Wooyoung had intended, but it does make San chuckle.

“I don’t mind when you’re rough with me. In fact, I’ve always been the one asking you to go even harder. It was just a bit different this time because of what happened last time.”

The space falls quiet as San thinks through Wooyoung’s words. Wooyoung doubts that he’ll come up with anything, because there’s no way San will know because Wooyoung never even told him. Deciding that it’s time to be reasonable, he picks up the explanation himself.

“I’m going to preface this by saying that you should definitely not feel bad about this because there’s no way you would have known, and also, it’s my own fault for not bringing it up until now. Is that understood?”

His question is met with silence. 

“Okay?” Wooyoung demands, shifting to catch San’s gaze.

San lets out an amused huff. “Okay.”

“Last time we had sex - absolutely mind-blowing, by the way, I came so many fucking times -” 

San laughs, and Wooyoung stops to mirror the grin that stretches across San’s face. “Anyways, we fell asleep without showering first. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep before you, but I woke up because I felt kind of gross from all the, uh, fluids. You were asleep, and we’ve all been so tired, so I didn’t want to bug you. Again, this is my fault, and honestly not sure why exactly this happened, but—”

The memory makes Wooyoung wince, and San draws the younger closer into his embrace.

“But when I looked in the mirror, I was an absolute wreck, and I felt so disgusting. And you weren’t there to tell me how ridiculous I was being, so it was just—it was bad.”

San’s about to launch off on another rambling apology, Wooyoung’s sure; before he can, Wooyoung reaches a finger up to shush him.

“It’s not your fault, Sannie.”

San sighs, but at the pointed look on Wooyoung’s face, he relents. 

“Okay. But just - next time, tell me, okay? So I can help.”

“Okay.”

For a few moments, a comfortable silence lapses over them, and Wooyoung’s heartbeat steadies with the calm of San’s breathing.

“Hey, you know I love you, right?” San murmurs.

Wooyoung hums. “Love you, too.”

“Like, actually.”

Wooyoung turns to quirk an eyebrow at the older. “Are you trying to make this a competition?”

“No,” San chuckles. “I just want you to know that I don’t just love you when I say it, and especially not just after sex or something. It’s true every moment of every day, but I can’t possibly say it that often.”

Wooyoung chokes back a laugh, and San wrinkles his nose.

“Yeah, that was a bit—”

“Kinda cringy, yeah. I appreciate the sentiment, though,” Wooyoung grins, tilting his head up to press a kiss to San’s jaw.

San smiles at him, gaze fond. “Shower?”

“Yes, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/alphabetsleuth) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/alphabetsleuth)


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